Innocent Bones
by Let Love In
Summary: "Cato was dead long before the Games." Cato recounts painful memories from District 2 as he experiences terrible nightmares and visions during the 74th Hunger Games, while Clove attempts to curb her secret obsession from finding the light. Rated M for violence, language and sex.
1. Obsession

**A/N: This is going to be a chapter fic, but a pretty short one. It's Cato and Clove's perspective of the 74th Hunger Games, as well as some history before they enter the arena. Rated M for language, sex and violence. Hope you enjoy!**

Cato was dead long before the Games.

It wasn't until it was too late that he figured this out, though; his demise. His day was filled with menial distractions and his sleep was restless with nightmares, terrible visions, but he chalked this up to be nothing. Cato knew better than to show this restiveness; he was from District 2, after all. Self-importance ran thick through his veins. He trained vigorously at the academy and could always feel more than a pinch of enjoyment in the midst of battle, wielding a sword. Everyone in his class knew not to fuck with Cato, and he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

The day he volunteered was a good day. He felt an immense sense of satisfaction swell inside his chest as he stepped out of the District 2 mass, his large voice carrying through the entire plaza smoothly, boldly. It was easy for him to demand attention, even in silence.

"I volunteer as tribute."

He caught sight of his family as he stood on stage, measured the pride in their eyes. It felt good. His father gave him a slight, approving nod; he had never been one to show much emotion, not unless it was anger or frustration. He himself had been a victor in the 49th Hunger Games; he was only fifteen years old.

Cato believed he was the spitting image of his father. Broad, hulking shoulders and striking blonde hair, although he did have a softer, eye-catching face (thanks to his mother). It was no secret that he hoped to leave an impact in the 74th Hunger Games just as his father had in his time. _Brutus the Bloodthirsty_, Alto Honeyman (the host of the Hunger Games at the time) had jokingly called him back then during his interview after hearing about a scuffle with another tribute.

After he won the Games, the name stuck.

Cato's mother, of course, she was crying. She cried over most things, happy or sad or angry. His older brother only gave him a simple smirk, one that was almost taunting… it spoke to him, it said, "_Let's see what you can do_." Cato returned the look with ease.

He snapped out of his trance when a small but determined voice broke through the crowd. Clove, a girl he knew well. She practically shadowed him at the academy, carefully watching his form and fighting stance without saying a word or asking a question. For a while, he was a little irked that she constantly followed him in silence. Not even an introduction. But after a while, she joined his usual lunch crew, talking to the lot as if she had known them all for years.

She was different and a little off, but after that day, the two of them just _worked_. It was no surprise that they graduated top of their class. The energy he exuded motivated Clove, and her sheer insatiability provoked Cato's inner monster to emerge. They were believed to be the best Career duo thus far, according to the bets from the Capitol. More money had been placed on those two tributes than any other pair in history, and that alone gave Clove a new skip in her step, her smile wide and malicious.

Most people would probably describe Clove as insane, but Cato preferred the word… driven.

She smiled that wide smile as she bound up the steps to the front of the stage. A roar of applause broke out for the two of them, and again Cato felt a quiver in his chest that signified honor. Honor for his District. He knew he would make them proud, the whole lot of them.

But something else surfaced within him, something that he knew would come up eventually during this experience. It had been exactly a year ago, when Laurel was reaped.

Laurel Ivory. He would always remember her by the way her name tumbled off his tongue. Voice loud, eyes bright… all of Panem couldn't help but fall in love with her.

Cato had began to notice her when she was, well, _not _noticing him. He was puzzled by this; the girls at the academy were well known for their weakness for the tall blonde boy. He couldn't even count on his fingers and toes how many of them he had fucked.

Ever since he sprouted upward ten inches and gained malevolent prowess wielding a sword, people noticed him. Women younger than him, women older than him, teachers, trainers, mentors, anybody with a libido. The power he had over them was satisfying; he could always count on somebody in his bed after a hard day's work, no matter the day. His confident smirk could cause every girl at the academy to tremble internally. Well, not _every_ girl.

Laurel was a tall brunette with a pointed, angular face that looked almost devilish, if it weren't for the freckles dotting her cheeks and nose. Not only was her face absolutely striking, but her lean body was sharp with tone and definition. Unlike most people of District 2, who donned blue eyes, Laurel's were light brown, almond-shaped, and piercing. You could tell she was intelligent by one simple glance at her face, always calculating, never at rest.

But those beautiful brown eyes never found Cato. Not when he was fighting, or joking with his friends at lunch, or even in the hallways, when he shot his sexiest grin in her direction.

"What's up with that girl?" Cato asked a pal, Strovus, at lunch one day at the beginning of the year. Strovus, a big, dumb oaf probably twice the size of Cato, furrowed his brow and shook his head.

"Who?"

"That one. The brunette, freckles. Sitting next to Thalia."

Strovus looked from Cato, to Laurel, and back to Cato. His expression was all but thoughtful. "I don't see anything, is there something wrong with her?"

"No," Cato replied in exasperation, staring down at his lunch. "She's the only bitch in this place that won't talk to me… you think she's a dyke?"

"Yeah, probably."

Strovus agreed with almost everything Cato said. Cato couldn't tell if he was afraid to disagree, or if he formulated his opinions based off everybody else's simply because he was too dumb to have his own. He didn't really care. Strovus was a monster of a man but he was no good fight, not even worth a show. Cato could finish him with his bare hands.

He looked back up at the two girls. Laurel was staring down at a book as her blonde friend Thalia poked her shoulder, whispering something frantically. He had recently realized that the two girls were very close, despite their obvious personality differences.

Thalia looked up at Cato, threw him a wink and a small wave. He waved back with a small smirk, which clearly caused her to perk up immediately.

The poor girl probably thought he was looking at her.

"I'm going to investigate," he told Strovus, who grunted in response but stayed put.

Cato swaggered over to their table, making sure to turn his game face on. _This shouldn't be too hard_, he thought to himself.

"Hello ladies," he greeted them fondly, planting his feet right next to their table.

"Hey, Cato," Thalia purred, cocking her head to the side a little bit. Her friend did not stir. A little flustered, Cato took a seat down at the table, intentionally bumping her foot with his. Laurel moved her foot slightly backwards but did not make a sound.

"That was really great what you did today in Defense," Thalia crooned, snapping him out of his trance. She was a good-looking girl, but nowhere close to her silent friend sitting next to her. Cato raised an eyebrow at her.

"You think?" he asked her. He was never one to be modest, but he noticed recently that playing coy often drove the girls crazy.

"_Oh_ yeah," Thalia responded, enthused. "The way you used that tiny knife to block an axe? You're _insane_."

He smiled a little bit at this. Goodbye modesty. "Well, you know, it really doesn't take much effort. You see, I just –"

"Could you two take this conversation elsewhere?" came a smooth voice. Laurel hadn't moved an inch, and if Thalia hadn't glanced at her friend with a look of bewilderment, Cato thought he had imagined her question. "You're ruining my concentration."

Thalia rolled her eyes at Laurel, but looked back at Cato almost immediately. At this point, he was too agitated to give her any more attention.

"Someone's got a little something stuck up their ass," he muttered as he forcefully stood from the table (causing his chair to topple over) and walked away. He could hear Thalia reprimanding Laurel as he left the cafeteria and headed for the only place he found solace, the practice rooms. He would find some way to get revenge.

And that revenge came in the form of Thalia, naked in his bed that very night.

* * *

Clove had always been considered a little off.

She didn't like to talk much, just observe. It wasn't that she didn't have a way with words (she certainly did), but silence could be just as powerful as speech, according to her. She knew it'd be tough to make friends at the academy with a personality like this. But then she met Cato.

Clove knew she would have a certain fascination with Cato when she witnessed him kill. Of course, he didn't know she had been there, lurking behind that building. She had felt a certain giddiness rise inside of her when his sword sliced through the throat of a Lower, one who had taunted Cato for his masculine physique and cocky gait. He clearly had no idea that Cato kept his weapon on him at all times.

Lowers were the scum of District 2. They were the kids who refused to go to academy, and instead worked alongside their good-for-nothing parents, who also had not participated in the Games. If it weren't for the mass of children graduating from the academy who volunteered for their sorry asses, District 2 would be the laughing stock of the Hunger Games. Worse than 11 and 12. Clove shuddered at the thought.

Ever since she witnessed him in that little alleyway, something sparked inside her that was nothing short of an obsession. Her mind was constantly preoccupied by that image in her head, the sick, twisted smile that covered Cato's face when he ended that Lower's life. He wasn't like the boys at the academy, who talked the talk but couldn't kill worth shit, until they were thrust into the arena.

Cato was a hot-blooded, egotistical alpha male, and Clove couldn't get enough of him.

She observed Cato during class, silently, knowing that one day she would certainly make him a friend. It was hard saying 'no' to Clove, and many people knew this. She had certain sweetness about her, that sweetness could easily cover her inner malevolence. Although most kids thought her to be insane, it was still easy to befriend them after a few conversations.

Probably because they were a little frightened of her.

So when she began to spend every lunch with Cato, it was safe to say that her mood improved greatly. He liked her wickedness and she admired his strength, and the two quickly soared to the top of the academy together.

Without that little bitch, Laurel.

Laurel Ivory, the love of Cato's life, that stupid twig of a girl who was too intelligent for her own good. Always reading her stupid books, never actually doing anything about her physical strength or swiftness. She was Clove's sister, older by a year.

"What do you see in her, anyway?" Clove asked Cato one day as they sat on the quad, watching two smaller boys spar (rather badly). He shrugged, flicking a rock between his deft fingers. Clove continued, "She's such a _bitch_."

"She's… different," was all Cato could say. He never divulged much information about her to her little sister. But to Clove, she was certainly not _different_ by any means. Laurel was that girl who knew she was hot shit, and pretended like no boy in the universe could ever be attractive to her. She had a stick so far up her ass, Clove was surprised no one could see it when she opened her mouth. She walked around the academy in her skimpy uniform (which she ordered a size too small), cocked her head up high and laughed about menial bullshit with her equally annoying friend, Thalia.

Growing up with Laurel had been an unimaginable hell.

Clove strived for perfection. For complete accuracy, 100% of the time. That's why she liked knives. They were so tiny, seemingly useless, but one flick of the wrist could end a life, if it was precise. And for Clove, there was no such thing as inaccuracy.

But her parents always found a way to praise Laurel, even if she was doing nothing but sitting on her ass and reading. Physically, she had an advantage of Clove. She was tall, and had extreme muscles in her upper arms (how she acquired these was a mystery to her little sister). Clove knew it took more than the physical stuff to win the Games; it took guts, too. And her silly older sister had none of those.

"You're going to make us so proud," her parents are crooned over Laurel the day she volunteered. There was no doubt in there minds that she would emerge victorious, bloodied and proud.

No such words ever found their way to Clove's ears. No, she was the runt of the family; nothing good could come of her in any way, shape or form. They didn't even know she was top of her class at the academy, and they had no idea she was going to volunteer for the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

"It's probably just tough love," Cato would tell her simply, as if he knew all about her life just because he was fucking Clove's sister. Clove shoved him, spitting in his face.

"You know _nothing _about my family," she whispered violently. "Go fuck yourself."

But Cato was used to these sorts of reactions. Clove had a hot head on her shoulders. Other than sadistic glee and anger, she didn't show much of anything else, not even sadness.

She didn't shed a tear when Laurel was brutally murdered in the 73rd Hunger Games.

**A/N: Let me know what you thought!**


	2. Snow

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback! This chapter has got some more background to it, so I hope you all enjoy. And to the reviewer who asked if I'm going to be writing through Clove and Cato's POVs in the Games, the answer is yes! Ok, enjoy the read :)**

It was snowing.

He wasn't sure at first; after all, it never snowed in District 2. But his eyes couldn't help but flutter open when he felt those flecks of biting cold grace the skin of his face. He immediately recoiled upon opening his eyes.

Everything was white. The ground, the air… the line on the horizon between land and sky was blurred, practically invisible. A sharp wind whistled in his ears, but he was not cold. No, his blood boiled hot beneath his skin.

Besides the air, there wasn't a sound. Until he heard the footsteps. He whipped his head in the direction that they came from and all he saw was a slow, staggering silhouette advancing towards him. Cato's hand immediately went to grab the sword from his hip, but there was nothing but an empty sheath. In fact, he had no weaponry on his person, but that was no matter to him. The figure in the distance seemed injured, possibly disoriented with the way that they limped towards him.

"Who are you?" he called, allowing a flicker of malice to lace through his words. He knew he could sound intimidating if he wanted to. And since his only defense was his bare hands, he knew that intimidation was a necessity. Limping or not, he wasn't sure what this person, or creature, was capable of.

But the closer it got, the more apprehensive he became. His chest was gripping, his arms shaky, eyes shifty and unable to stay in one position. It was as if the thing approaching him in the snow was Doom itself, not a figure, looming closer and closer with each staggered step. And in an instant, he knew exactly why.

"Laurel?" he said in a voice just above a whisper. All the anger from his voice had dissipated. "_Laurel_!"

And it was indeed Laurel. Or, perhaps, some sort of abomination that had once been the beautiful girl from the academy. Cato almost screamed when he saw her.

A large, seeping cut had been swept across her throat shamelessly. Blood caked her once perfect, plump lips and flowed down her face and neck. She opened her maw and more of the sticky, red liquid bubbled out of it with a sickening noise, sliding down her body and soaking her already-stained armor. At this point, Cato's chest was heaving and he gripped at his thin shirt with such intensity that his fingernails broke through the fabric, broke through his skin…

Her eyes. Those beautiful almond eyes, the ones that he had kissed when her eyelids were peacefully shut in slumber. They were hanging. Hanging from a thin, muscular thread that fell from her eye sockets, sickeningly swinging. She opened her mouth again, this time to scream; it was the most horrifying noise.

"Stop! _Stop it_!" he cried, forcing his eyes shut.

"Cato, what the fuck?" came a voice. A normal, yet somewhat peeved voice. He knew Clove was in his doorway before he could even open his eyes. "Stop yelling! What are you doing?"

He sat up, fully acknowledging that he was covered head to toe in sweat. "I'm not yelling," he replied rather weakly. Clove could only roll her eyes and cross her arms over her still pajama-clad body.

"You woke me up. Do you have any idea what time it is?" she asked him with a venom in her voice that could only be described as nasty. But in an instant, her piercing eyes drooped slightly and another look filled her face: concern. "What is that?"

She was staring at his chest. He looked down to see five marks on his bare midsection; blood was trailing out of three of the fingernail scratches. It must have been from his nightmare.

"Oh," he said simply, wiping the blood with his hands. "Nothing. I must have done that in my sleep."

For some reason, Clove had always been the one person that Cato was positive he never wanted to show weakness in front of. She had no tolerance for it. Her demeanor was always stone cold and terribly harsh, and he would rather die than let her see him in such a vulnerable state.

"Whatever," she said without pity. "Since I'm up I'm going to start showering. We'll be at the Capitol in two hours."

She gave him a confusing look before she turned to leave his compartment. It was a mix between annoyance and… something he couldn't quite pinpoint. But it _was _Clove, after all. The girl always had a million things on her mind.

With a yawn, he flopped back on his bed and turned to his side, fully aware that he would not fall back asleep again.

* * *

Laurel continued to ignore him. No matter how many times he came around her lunch table, showed off in class, or even fucked Thalia after dinner, she never seemed to care. To her, he just seemed like a nuisance. And he was _not _used to that.

"So what's your sister's deal?" he asked Clove one day. She snorted and stabbed her fork through a slab of meat, cutting it with vigor.

"What's her deal? I'll tell you her deal," Clove spat back, a look in her eyes that Cato often observed when she was sparring, or in the midst of an argument. He braced himself. "She's a stupid cunt. Thinks she's all that and a bag of fucking chips. Don't bother, unless you want to attempt to dislodge the stick that's stuck up her ass."

"Yeah, but… well, she's hot," Cato responded nonchalantly. He grew used to Clove's sudden sparks of nastiness.

"Shut up," she said, taking a vicious bite out of her steak, a bit of her flare gone. Cato shrugged and took a swig of milk, staring behind Clove to glance at Laurel. Maybe he had to go a different route, a more… _direct _route.

So, after dinner, he headed to the library. A saddened Thalia tried to get his eye contact as he marched out of the dining room, but for once in his time here at the academy, he didn't want random sex. This girl was a challenge, and there was nothing Cato liked more than a good challenge.

The library was a place he didn't visit too often. He did quite fine in his classes without setting foot here, and besides, what could books teach him that he didn't already know about fighting? He feigned interest in the different sections, strolling casually between each shelf and pulling out books at random, reading their back covers, and then replacing them.

Within minutes, Laurel was there, making small chat with the librarian as she pushed a book over the counter.

"Done already?" asked the elderly woman, taking the book in her shaking hands. "You are a quick one, my dear."

"It was a short read," Laurel said with modesty, her voice low and sultry. Cato had never really heard her speak normally; when he was around, there was always a tone of annoyance. He caught a quick glance at the book as the librarian put it aside and he determined that it was definitely not a short read. At least, not on his terms. "I had a lot of time on my hands today."

"There are other ways to spend your time, you know," he said, emerging from an adjacent bookshelf. Immediately, he witnessed her shoulders tense up from the sound of his voice, but she turned around to look at him anyway. The librarian gave him a reprimanding glance before she shuffled into her backroom, book in hand. "I mean, I think I've seen you read at least six books in the past week."

_Good_, he said to himself. _Make it all about her_.

"I don't believe that's such a bad thing," she replied with a sigh, brushing past him into another corridor of the library.

"I never said that," he said, rushing to follow her. Her pace visibly quickened. "I'm just saying that maybe there are other, well, _activities_ that you could be doing. Instead of reading."

"Well, maybe I'd rather read than participate in such _activities_," Laurel snapped back at him as she turned a corner. He shook his head, feeling a surge of adrenaline and something else (was it anger?) pulse through his body. He reached forward and grabbed her arm, whirling her around to face him.

"What's your deal, baby?" he growled, his voice smooth and low. He leaned towards her, hand still gripping her arm, and gave her the signature smirk. For a split second, her hard exterior softened as she realized how close his face was to hers… he wouldn't have even noticed it if he hadn't been intently studying her beautiful, pointed features. But she regained composure quickly.

"My _deal _is that I'd like you to get your hands off me," she responded in a sharp whisper. Yanking her hand away, she stalked into another aisle, leaving Cato annoyed and, admittedly, very sexually frustrated.

But he wouldn't let her get away so easily.

* * *

Laurel was the 22nd person to die in the 73rd Hunger Games.

Her alliance consisted of the pair from District 1, her partner in District 2, and two outliers from District 4 and District 9 that had (surprisingly) showed much promise during training.

This was a very unpopular year for the Games, which turned out to be unfortunate luck for the tributes. The arena was a tundra wasteland; all there was to the setting was snow, and more snow. Nothing was provided for the tributes, and the Cornucopia didn't even contain any useful supplies to build a fire. Many of the tributes froze to death, which was a boring and slightly uncomfortable demise to watch from home.

For one thing, the tributes were an awful sight to stomach for the audience. The tips of their noses had turned black from hypothermia while their lips turned blue and cracked within a few hours. Much of these Games were spent watching the tributes die a slow death, yelling at hallucinations and reaching out to touch things that were not really there before they shriveled up into a ball and allowed for snow to blanket over their decaying bodies. At the final six, the Gamemakers finally decided to provide the remaining tributes with some resources for fires and warmth.

Laurel had, of course, already received such assets. With her intelligence and mysterious "hot-girl" visage, the Capitol was ga-ga over her. Her alliance, however, was not as fortunate as she.

The boy from 4 had met an inopportune end within the first few hours of the Games, when the girl from 9 bumped into a tree and an icicle slipped off and pierced the very middle of his skull. Later, Twinkle from District 1 fell through the ice of a frozen lake. The hole she created had sealed itself by the time she tried to get back through it, but Laurel and her counterparts had not so much as glanced back in her direction. They were too cold and on the border of insanity by the time the first sponsor gift had floated through the frigid air. It was only eight hours into the Games.

Slowly, the others died. Each cannon boom gave the Careers a fleeting feeling of inner warmth, for they were getting closer to leaving their glacial hellhole. The whole world would watch as they sat huddled around the fire, attempting to calculate exactly how long they had been in the arena. To each of them, it felt like weeks. All were too unhinged to realize that the anthem hadn't even played yet, and the fallen tributes had not flashed in the sky.

It had been less than a day.

The boy from 2 died in his sleep. Tristes was a promising young guy from the academy that Cato had trained with for several years; his death was pitiable at best.

It was late in the second day of the Games when a morphling from 6 came close to the Careers camp, which hadn't moved in hours. He was disoriented, staggering, and muttering strange things under his breath as he drew closer. Cato remembered watching this moment on the television, seeing the pure madness in the boy's eyes. Even just thinking about it now gave him a creeping feeling.

The sky was pitch dark even if it was late in the afternoon. The only thing that gave away their camp was the fire, which Laurel watched with dull interest as she guarded for the night. Despite the flickering fire in front of her, she seemed a little mad as well; the audience witnessed her digging through the snow just hours before, seemingly searching for something in the bed of white ice. She didn't even hear the morphling behind her; either that, or she didn't care that her demise was near.

Cato's insides were screaming but he sat silently with his family as he watched the morphling tear out her eyes with an ice pick, then slit her throat. Her death was a silent one, an undeserved and dishonorable one. The other tributes didn't hear a thing. They didn't even make a sound when he finished them both off, becoming the official winner of the 73rd Hunger Games.

Cato swore that the District 6 tributes would be the first to die by his hands.

* * *

Clove didn't cry for her sister's death. In fact, she watched the scene with intensity, her only qualm being that her sister was killed by a dirty fucking morphling from District 6. Her parents, despite their hard exterior, wailed for days about the loss of their perfect daughter. Not Clove. She could almost be described as _happy _to have her sister out of her hair.

Because now, it was her turn to shine.

Her parents didn't say much before she was ushered onto the train to the Capitol. There were some half-hearted hugs and goodbyes, but the one thing that stuck in her mind were the words that came out of her father's mouth as he left her.

"You better win," he spat. "Or you are no daughter of mine."

She _had _to win.

But as she ran into Cato's room to find him screaming and pummeling his pillow, she knew that this would be no easy task. His chest gleamed with fresh blood and she smiled to herself wickedly, almost turned on to see him writhing in his bed like that. Not that she had never seen him shirtless, but seeing him shirtless and _in bed_ was definitely a treat. She watched for a few more moments, before the word _Laurel _escaped his lips. So she woke him up.

Even after her death, Clove's sister still haunted her, but in a way that had nothing to do with her family. She knew that Laurel was still on Cato's mind, even a year after her death. And that fact alone did nothing but fuel her fire.

**A/N: Sorry if it was a little violent. Hope you enjoyed!**


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